


for light has traveled years between

by thraume (ethia)



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: 2nd person POV, F/M, I serve the bitter with the sweet, Katrina is as tough as nails, Lorca has a potty mouth, Smut, a hint of D/s, a trace of h/c, but Lorca is her weak spot, but hope springs eternal, but so has Katrina I'm afraid, countdown to disaster, pre-canon to Lethe, the lies we tell ourselves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-30 00:40:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12642606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ethia/pseuds/thraume
Summary: Five times Katrina Cornwell doesn't sleep with a stranger, and one time she does."I've been thinking. Maybe we should see more of each other."Your thoughts exactly. "You could start by taking off your jacket for me.""I could." He smiles down at you, his face soft with a fondness you can't even begin to grasp at right now. "But that's not what I meant."





	for light has traveled years between

**Author's Note:**

> Uhm. I really have no idea where this came from, or why it decided to turn out so steamy, but. I do hope you find something in here to enjoy.

.5 _afterimage_

You've never slept with him before.

Not like this, the entirety of a night spent together in bed, a tangle of legs and arms and warm, naked skin.

First light is filtering in through the curtains, slants of gold pouring into the room, the early reaches of a summer day not quite begun. But night is stubborn yet, pooling deeply in the shadows, and you feel strangely weightless in between, a moment out of time, to do with as you please.

Gabriel is fast asleep, curled toward you on his side, and you're hungry for the nakedness of him, the unguarded expression on his face, the easy curve of his shoulder that falls and rises with his breath. He might be many things, but still isn't usually one of them, and you could watch him for hours like this, so perfectly at rest, his boundless energy contained, for once at ease with himself and the world.

August has left his skin bronzed, and how could you not indulge your desire to touch when it's all right here in front of you? So you trace the line of his arm, well-defined muscle under smooth skin, round his shoulder and up his neck, until you reach his face, the strong line of his jaw, and finally his mouth, so expressive when he's awake, and now pulling into a gentle smile as he becomes aware of your feathery caress.

“Is this my wake-up call?” He's still fuzzy with sleep, his voice low and a little slurred with it, but warm with good humor, and you laugh as he squints at you, too lazy to fully open his eyes.

“Not quite yet, sleepyhead.” You press a kiss to his smile, his face framed softly in your hands, and his lips are pliant for you, slow yet but willing to follow your lead. You keep things light, but good intentions and all, he quickly grows more animate under your mouth, pushing for more, his breath coming in short little grunts that slip right past your lips.

“Couldn't resist, huh,” he murmurs as you break away, his smile sly with the knowledge of how right he is.

“No one likes a cocky bastard, Gabriel.”

He laughs and dives in for another kiss, and this time you're the pliant one, moaning under the clever rub of his tongue against yours, clutching at his arms to steady yourself against the pressure he builds, and builds, relentless, until you're squirming with the insistent throb of heat between your legs.

“Oh, but I seem to recall that you did, Katrina. Pretty much all of last night, if memory serves.” His voice is downright dirty, so close and low in your ear, and just you wait until he finds out how wet for him you already are. You give a tiny shake of your head, to clear it at least a little, but he presses on, not a chance for a reprieve. "You don't remember? All the lovely things I did to you last night?"

Most of it is a blur, really; the laughter, the whiskey, the meteors above, brilliant stripes of light painted in the sky as he moved inside you, his arms around you, his body a shield so that the chill of the night couldn't touch you. His ardently murmured words in your ear.

_The things we'll do, Kat, the things we'll see. It's all out there, just waiting for us to come and get it._

_Pioneers in space._

_We won't settle for less._

You trail your fingers along the side of his face, then trace his smile, tender with the shared memory.

“Fill me in?”

“If you take care to pay close attention.” He draws slow circles all over your hip, his mouth a hot imprint in the curve of your neck. It makes you arch into him and he laughs, a low, deep chuckle that hums along your skin, a sinful burn that only serves to make you squirm again.

“Gabriel.” Not plaintive but close, rewarded with another chuckle.

“Right here, Kat.” You're lost to the rough edge in his voice, his lust kindling yours, want for want. But his kiss is languid as he pulls you close, his embrace light and gentle, like time doesn't mean a thing to him, this morning going on forever. “Still with me?”

“Waiting for you to capture my attention.”

Never one to pass up on a challenge, he finally moves to rest on top of you, the press of his weight making you moan with its promise. You cradle him between your legs, inviting him in, and almost laugh at his surprise to find you so very ready for him.

“Kat?” His eyes are intent, dark with a rush of desire, but he holds himself still, resisting the urgent pull of your hand on his lower back.

“Please.”

He takes it slow for your sake, you know, and you let yourself fall into the deep, sensuous slide of him, like riding a wave, back and forth, afloat in pleasure.

“Stay with me, Kat,” he whispers, and that's almost it, the last push you need, but you fight it back, that overwhelming pull to just rock yourself to completion. You hang on to his rhythm instead, his determination to make this last, a memory worth of keeping.

Like you would ever forget.

You pull up your legs and he's deep, and now there's no going back, no holding on, the little, breathless sounds you're making urging him on, shattering all control. There isn't a lick of air between you now, your bodies fused, a furious slide of skin and sweat, and you feel like you must fall apart from the inside out, hanging precariously on the edge of relief.

“Kat,” he gasps, the press of his mouth hard on yours, and that's it, your breaking point, and you ride out the tension with your body arched into his, all movement ceasing to exist except for the deep, coalescent pulse singing between him and you.

Hesitant to let go, he reels you in, side by side, his breathing still harsh, but his mouth oh so very soft on you as he kisses you lightly, his face wide open under your gaze.

It's probably the most intimate you've ever been with each other.

“Think you'll remember this?” His tone is teasing, but there is something earnest in his eyes, something he isn't bothering to hide. It tugs at you, a small drum-roll of delight in your chest, his trust usually never so freely given.

“I might need you to remind me every now and then.”

He huffs a laugh against your lips, his eyes and face warm with his mirth, and just imagine you hadn't woken him up, and never seen this side of him. Another tug, another quickening of your pulse, and perhaps you should rein yourself in, but you cannot be bothered, steeped in bliss and content as you are.

Falling in love with Gabriel Lorca would be a tremendously stupid idea, which is why you won't.

Not in his arms, not under his mouth, not on this morning.

This is nothing but a dream, a secret whispered in the dark, suspended forever in these moments _after_ , too sweet and frail to make it past first light.

You drift off with your fingers smoothing through his tousled hair, too sleepy to chase away the lazy-happy warmth in your chest, that addictive feeling of being close and wanted.

Too sleepy to care that uncurbed now, this dream might likely linger.

So let it if it will.

You can always deal with it later.

  
.4 _we could be_

It's been some time since you've last seen each other, same as always, par for your course. Months running on into a year, sometimes a little less, sometimes a lot more.

It never matters when you meet again.

He's proud of his ship, you can tell, showing you around the _Buran_ like you must take inventory of every single thing that's changed since you've last been around.

You stop in a doorway when no one is around, and kiss him until he's breathless under your mouth, his hand hot and unrelenting on the small of your back, yours bunched tightly in the fabric of his shirt.

Perhaps it's been just a little bit too long.

He doesn't smirk at your loss of decorum, but it's close enough, and you step away, the only thing you've got in the way of admonishing him. His smile only widens.

The tour runs short after that, your skin alive with heat and tension, and him fully aware, if the mischievous glint in his eye is anything to go by.

"And here we are. Your quarters, Admiral. I hope you'll find everything to your liking." Still with that smile, the cocky tease, as though he doesn't have the exact same thing on his mind as you.

"I'm sure I will, Captain."

You're about to ask him in, your pride be damned, but he beats you to it, all smooth and suave.

"Of course, it'd be downright rude not to invite you for a drink before you retire."

"Ah, yes. The niceties must be observed. I accept, then."

“My quarters?” Which is probably not the best idea, given how much he seems to enjoy your impatience to be with him already, but he doesn't share his privacy often, and you feel privileged by his offer.

“All right.”

You make it there okay, even though he takes it into his head to rest his fingers lightly on the small of your back, just barely enough for you to feel his touch, withdrawing only when you're passing someone in the hallway.

He ups the ante in the lift, where his hand rests more heavily on you, his thumb pressing _in,_ then stroking downward, fully suggestive. You let your eyes slip shut and lean in, biting your lip to keep yourself silent, one final shred of your dignity preserved.

“Look at me, Kat.”

Well, to hell with that.

He's stepped in front of you, his fingers kneading the round swell of your ass, all the way down to the crease of your thigh, where he drags his fingers, back and forth, slow and deliberate, brushing close to the heat between your legs, time and again, until you moan for him, the sound harsh and broken in the confines of the lift.

He gives one last squeeze for full measure, his eyes dark with his triumph, his voice hoarse as he leans close.

“I love how you can't wait for it, Kat.”

He's right, too, and it shouldn't turn you on so much, the way he gloats, but, god help you, it does, and you can't ever let it be this long again.

You keep him at arm's length after that, part of your control reinstated when you reach his quarters, where he kindly offers you that promised drink, and a seat, like you're going to sit down and talk when he practically got you halfway _there_ in that cursed lift no five minutes ago.

But apparently, you are.

You choose the couch, for no other reason than a slim hope that he might decide to join you there, but he doesn't, downing his whiskey in one long swig, perched on the edge of his desk, his eyes never leaving your face.

"What is it with you today?"

That smirk again, but at least he's coming over now, bending down to kiss you, one hand threaded lightly through your hair, angling your head back, holding you in place. It makes you moan, his assertiveness, the slow deliberation of his kiss, the sure slide of his tongue between your lips. You clutch at his hips, but it only makes him step away, his breath harsh, his fingers warm on the side of your face.

"I've been thinking. Maybe we should see more of each other."

Your thoughts exactly. "You could start by taking off your jacket for me."

"I could." He smiles down at you, his face soft with a fondness you can't even begin to grasp at right now. "But that's not what I meant."

“Gabriel--”

“Just think about it. Later.” He squats down between your legs and leans in, his kiss much gentler now, persuasive, a sweetness lurking underneath like a secret he's meant to tell for some time now. Your breath stutters with it, then peters out into a moan as his mouth turns fierce again, his hands running along the length of your thighs, and before you know it you're shimmying out of your pants for him, and then you come apart under the onslaught of his mouth, your fingers threaded tightly through his hair as you rock your hips against the roughness of his tongue.

He lets you come close, but not close enough, breaking from your grip to stare up at you, his eyes dark with lust, his mouth and chin glistening wetly, and you think that maybe you could come just from that look on his face, that utterly debauched and sinful smile, a challenge in its own right.

“Come down here, Kat.”

It shouldn't thrill you so much, the command in his voice, the absolute certainty of an order that he will see followed, but it does, it sends a tingle racing through you, and he knows, and that only makes it even better.

“So eager, Katrina,” he whispers as he pushes in, long, measured strokes, your back trapped against the base of the couch, his hand on your ass reeling you in for every thrust, keeping you exactly where he wants you, all nice and close.

He keeps his rhythm erratic, not quite _there_ , and you know that all you have to do is ask him for it, bargain for your release, and you will have it, his own pleasure nothing but an afterthought to him.

A battle of wills, even now, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

But in the end it doesn't take a single word from you, just your leg thrown over his to keep him angled where it's really, really good, and he laughs as you find your own way out, your need cresting so hard that you lose your voice over it, your tension flowing out on a soundless breath. He's all the more vocal for your silence, ending on a series of grunts, interlaced with your name, his mouth pressed to the side of your face, his body taut and hard with the force of his release.

“We should do this again,” Gabriel says once you've settled in on the couch, your back much more comfortable against the thick upholstery. The bed had seemed too far, and besides, you certainly don't mind being pressed up so nicely against Gabriel's chest.

"I'm all yours."

"Are you, then? Mine?" He's never been more intent than now, and your heart races with it, even as you aim for lightness, like you couldn't care less.

"Don't you know that?"

"I know you're no one else's."

"Then I must be yours, after all."

It's nothing but a harmless flirtation, his push, your pull. No reason at all for that wild flutter in your chest, or the joyous rustle of _what if either of us means anything by it_ tumbling around in your mind.

A pipe dream, a silly notion like so many others that spring up in the middle of the night.

But there's no hiding your smile as you kiss the corner of his mouth, content to follow the coaxing pressure of his palm on your cheek to give him the full kiss he seeks.

"I want you to stay, Kat," he murmurs, mouth to mouth, and you nod, such an easy answer to give.

So do you.

For tonight to begin with.

  
.3 _collide_

"Holy _fuck_ , Gabriel, will you just hold still?"

You manage not to nick his skin with the razor, but it's a close call, and not the first.

"You're taking forever, Katrina. It's just a shave, not a heart transplant."

It might as well be, with him fidgeting like a boy of five, too restless to sit still for all of ten minutes. You bite your tongue, wary of another argument, his mood still sour from having lost this task to you. Like you would have let him have a go at it with his sight not yet improved past murky shapes and washed-out colors.

“Then hold yourself still.”

You steady your hand on his shoulder as you turn his face this way and that, mindful of the fading bruise that stains most of his left side from neck to waist. Not painful anymore, or so he says, but you've seen him wince when he bumped into you ever so lightly just last night.

He's a picture of long-suffering misery, sat as he is on the edge of the wooden bench in your bathroom, his eyes squinted tightly shut against the wash of sunlight you need to properly finish the job at hand. The warm tint is becoming on his skin, lending it a touch of color, a hint of life, all things he's shied away from since--

Since.

You put a firm stop to that thought, the disaster still bright and fresh in your mind, no reminder needed, thank you very much. A page right out of Gabriel's book, and who says that even a therapist won't benefit from a little denial every here and there.

It's not like you won't address the matter some day.

Perhaps even with him.

You let your eyes slide over the clutter of things strewn about the bathroom this way and that; his, yours, some undecided. Coming to Earth had seemed like a good idea at the time, with the nurses at hospital ready to throttle Gabriel for his singularly irritating mix of good-looking charms and his stubborn struggle for utter independence. The flat is a mess, because Gabriel keeps knocking into things, and you keep letting him, any offer of help unwanted, and only serving to make matters worse.

Which doesn't mean you won't keep trying.

At least until things finally come to a head.

“I should take a look at that cut on your neck.” Origin unknown, perhaps residue from the blast, or else a relic of a run-in with a Klingon knife. He won't tell, and you're tired of guessing.

"I don't need another doctor."

Not that you're likely to find him one; he's gone through three already, with nothing to show for it but a chain of referrals that ended in raised eyebrows and carefully polite refusals. Resists therapy; utterly incompliant.

"Then tell me what you need instead." And wouldn't that be something.

"For you to stop mothering, Kat." There's spite in his voice, but no real malice; no intent to hurt past the point of slicing off a portion of his frustration and unload it on you. Much easier to take than the initial silence, the grunted answers and small bursts of anger that marked the first stumbling days. You run your thumb across his chin, not all too gentle, a small reprimand to ease your way past his bluster.

"That all you got, Gabriel? 'Cause when it comes down to bullshit, I've seen you do better. I ain't buying."

The line of his jaw hardens under your palm, and you know this, too, his anger at the forefront of it all, a convenient smokescreen for him to hide behind.

"If we're just about done here." You can't ignore the tremor of tension in his voice, the strain of keeping his tone flat and unrevealing. Something wants to give, and you'll be damned if you're going to let this go.

You've already waited too long.

" _I'm_ not." You sigh as you take a firm grip on his chin to make him turn his head the other way. Of course he makes a fuss before he gives in, as much for show as nothing else, and you swallow another sigh. Not worth the trouble to give him the satisfaction of having aggravated you. Again. "Tell me one thing, then. Whatever you like. Something on your mind."

"Stop pushing."

"Well, make me. You know what I want."

"How about what I want?"

"Yeah, how about that? Tell me, Gabriel. 'Cause at this point, I've no idea. And I'd really like to know."

He moves so fast that he almost knocks the both of you over; his arms come round your waist, pulling you in, and his mouth, at just about the right height, finds your breast, the wet heat of him shocking even through the fabric of your shirt. You gasp as he sucks, hard enough as to almost be painful, the flick of his tongue going straight to your groin, the pull of his teeth making you clutch at his neck. The razor clutters to the ground but you're heedless, distracted by his fingers drawing a straight line on the inside of your thigh, all the way up to the apex where he finds your clit and rubs, sure and firm, the first familiar touch you've felt from him in weeks.

You feel him grunt around the soft flesh of your breast as you rock yourself against him, and you want to let yourself come like this, just his hand and his mouth, a fraction of intimacy, but there's an urgency in the way he holds you close that makes you ache for more.

He's angry as you break away; the curl of his fingers on your hip unforgiving.

“Gabriel, I'm just going to strip, just a moment, okay?”

It's a struggle, because he wants to _help_ , his hands in the way of yours, and so you knock into him, bang into his tender side. His hiss makes you freeze, but he shakes it off like it's nothing, drowned out by the volatile mix of lust and anger that already makes him reach for you again.

"Shit. I'm sorry. I'm--"

"Don't give a fuck, Kat." He's breathless, panting. "Fuck me, Kat. Come on, fuck me."

He's needy, desperate with it, and not holding back. He pulls you down as you sink onto him, all the way in, like sliding home. "Deeper, just a little bit. Almost there. You remember how good that feels, don't you? I know you do. _Fuck_ , Kat." He takes a long, stuttering breath, clutching at you. " _Kat_."

You ride his lap with abandon, a steady rise and fall for him to cling on to, a connection forged so long ago that you feel like it must have been a part of you forever. You feel stupid with relief at having found it again, because if you can still be close like this, surely you must also be able to reach him in another way.

He loses himself in you with a muffled cry, and you let yourself follow, crumpling around him, your cheek pressed to his.

"Still mine?" He whispers, like he's afraid to ask again, and even more afraid to hear your answer.

"Not anyone else's."

You're not sure you could be, not anymore. Not with everything that's happened, and everything that didn't. The _what ifs_ and _could bes_  that turned to ashes and dust along with the _Buran_ ; Gabriel's life spared, his future cut off and changed in a way that you wouldn't dare to predict. Yours, too, but you've decided not to dwell, very carefully so, after the initial shock of almost losing him had started to wear off.

You take a lingering kiss from him, heedless of the pull in your hips, the burn in your shins, too busy to be close, and here, and now. You kiss him until you're both breathless with it, and Gabriel's thighs start to shake with the strain of your weight.

"Don't," he says as you start to move, his arms strong and persuasive around your waist. "We're good."

 _Are we_ , but you don't give voice to your thought, loathe to disturb the calm he's had so much trouble to find. There's a hush to the room now, a quiet lull of slow, even breaths, that constant strain of tension between you broken for the first time in weeks. It's a blessing, your heart wide and aching with this sudden lack of pressure and strive.

He's the first to stir after a while, bringing his mouth to your ear, about to impart one of his secrets.

"One thing? I can't go on like this. We're at war, and here I am, an invalid, licking my wounds. I want to be back out there. Where I'm needed. Where I belong."

"You know it's too soon."

"I'm not talking about tomorrow, Kat. But I need a perspective. Something to work for. I can still make a difference. I need to. You know me. If anyone does it's you."

Stubborn to a fault, that's what he is. Perhaps it's the reason why he's still alive. You might as well give him a better one.

"Command is pushing for a decisive advantage over the Klingons. A new propulsion system that could turn the tide in our favor. They're preparing to launch the first ship for extended field tests within the month. As for the second one, it's still in dock. Perhaps we could talk about it once you've completed your recovery. Passed all the tests. I know who to talk to. They might just let you have a shot at it."

"Thank you, Kat."

" _Might_ , Gabriel."

"A fighting chance is all I'm asking for."

You run your fingers across his temple, smoothing away a strand of hair, chagrined by the depth of the lines around his eyes, the tight squeeze of his eyelids almost painful to watch. How you hate that he can't even see you now.

"Come to bed." There's a moment, a small hesitation as you pass the couch he's been sleeping on for the past two weeks, and your heart clenches with it, and you hold your breath, fearful, but he follows, one step behind, still with you. Unlost.

He doesn't resist as you nestle close, hungry for his heat, his living, breathing weight in your arms, and you wonder if that means anything.

If it still can.

  
.2 _once, and so again_

The flat has never looked so tidy, everything in order, except for the pair of suitcases sitting on the foot of the bed. Still open, awaiting departure.

The living-room looks strange without your belongings lying about, or perhaps it's just the lack of light, all the blinds drawn to keep the sunlight out, now that Gabriel's eyes have improved to the point of almost normal. For a given value of normal, anyway.

"Hey. You look almost sad to see me go."

The strangest thing is that you are not, that you are in fact about as excited for him to return to duty as he is himself. “Don't flatter yourself.”

He stops next to the couch with a lopsided grin, and bends to pick up the miniature starship from its stand on the table. Proof positive of his freshly earned position.

“Hard to believe I'm going to be on board in just a few days.”

“Hard to believe they're really letting you.” Was a time when you didn't think you'd ever see him laugh again like this, let alone about something you said. “Don't break it.”

You didn't mean for the little quiver in your voice, or the softness of it, but he lets it slide, like you did so many things during the course of his recovery.

"Wouldn't dream of it. She's cutting-edge. Special.”

For the first time in weeks, you see a gleam in his eye, and why it is that this should make you sad, you really don't know. It's all you ever wanted for him, at least since the _Buran_ , when his eyes seemed blind long past the point of his sight returning.

It's just that you remember another sort of gleam, from before, not really all that long ago. When it felt like you might be on the cusp of something.

But who is to say that given some time, and maybe some distance, one can't come in the wake of the other?

You shake off your maudlin thoughts as you rise from the couch, unwilling to spend your last night on Earth in a pit of regret.

“I was just thinking about taking a nice long shower. Wanna share?”

Turns out he does.

Things seem easier with both of you naked, the press of Gabriel's body behind you enough to make you shiver with anticipation.

He's taking his sweet time about it, his hands no more than a light tease on your breasts, his dick all hot and hard, nestled between your legs, rubbing against you like he has all the fucking time in the world. You arch into him, until the friction is just right, the pressure perfect, and let him get you off like this, all nice and slow, his mouth sucking leisurely at that point right below your hairline.

Holy fuck, but you're going to miss this, bad times and all.

He fucks you for real once you've come down enough to appreciate the effort, his arms so tight around you that you can barely breathe around the ache in your chest. It's glorious, anyway, your second climax reaching deep, a full, pulsing beat that echoes through your every nerve.

But the best part is his kiss once he's turned you around in his arms, the one you both can't seem to get enough of, his hands in your hair, his fingers restless on your face until you catch the tips with your mouth and kiss them, too.

“Not bad for an invalid,” you say, a little sleepy in his arms, and he laughs, and perhaps there is a hint of a gleam in his eye. But you wouldn't really know, what with the light so low about you.

  
.1 _break even_

"I'm sorry about the light."

It seems as good a thing to say as any, what with the spite and anger still simmering in his eyes.

"That's what you're sorry about?"

"Sometimes you gotta take what you get, Gabriel."

He snorts, but he doesn't leave, and you're pretty sure he was just about to.

“I'm on a schedule, Kat.”

“Not so much anymore, are you.” You can do spite, too.

The weight of the months you haven't seen him seems to fill the room, thick and impenetrable between you. He's been busy making a name for himself, rebuilding his record, the war a welcome excuse to push his boundaries. Even with you. So far, you've let him, waiting for him to find his feet, and fall into step with the rest of the fleet.

You know that being grounded rankles him, but there are those who say that he might become a loose cannon, and what better way to assuage their fears.

Even at the cost of Gabriel's anger. It's not like you haven't had to contend with that before. Except you've never been its direct cause.

“Step into my office, come.”

A part of you has always enjoyed coaxing him out of his moods, or counter them with a temper of your own; perhaps it's that very same part he's accused of mothering him. Though you would rather he thought you cared.

You dim the lights before he comes in, but he catches your wrist, his thumb a point of lightest pressure over your pulse.

“Turn them all the way off.”

He knows how to coax as well.

You've never been blind with him before.

He leans in lightly at first, then a little more, then he pushes his weight, like he's suddenly greedy for you. It's an instant connection, easily made, no matter the months, the distance between. You _fit_ , like you always have, that old familiar lure, too hard to resist.

You let him fuck you against the wall, your legs around his waist, your lips teasing at his mouth until he's frantic with it, chasing you with thrusts so forceful that you're both shaking with it. He only lets up a little when you bend your head to kiss him for real, like that's what he's been waiting for all this time.

“Come here, Kat, come here,” he whispers and you do, like you could ever not follow when he begs you close.

It doesn't matter that he finishes first, or that it takes his thumb on your clit to smooth you over the edge; it's still good, still everything that's him and you.

"I've missed... this." The admission comes freely as you slide down the wall together, both catching your breath.

"More slack for us to pick up, huh." Not all of his spite yet gone, it seems.

"Gabriel..."

"We still have a war to win. But, after, we... could make the time."

The darkness seems to swallow his voice, it sounds so small. You wonder if he looks as tired as he sounds, but you've no way of finding out. It angers you, to be so cut off from him when it's the exact opposite that you need.

But then, you've always found some way to connect.

“Sounds like a monumentally stupid idea, Captain.”

“We've always been pretty good at those, haven't we, Admiral.”

In the dark, his shoulder bumps yours, and yes, perhaps you could make the time.

You're pretty sure you should.

  
.0 _as you were_

"Easy there. Let's take this slow."

You've never felt much of a desire to take a lead in bed with him, but he seems agitated, lost in thought, and you think it might pay to ease him up just a little.

The lights in his quarters are dimmed to a pleasant glow, as per your request, even though something tells you he would have preferred a darker setting again.

He rolls onto his back with a grunt, then lets you straddle him, his hands light and warm on your hips. His mouth tastes of malt as you kiss him, his lips unresistant as you pry them apart with your tongue.

“Kat, I--”

“It's all right, I've got this.”

Gabriel sighs into your kiss, like maybe he's relieved, but he runs his hands up and down your back with something like ardor, and you let yourself be pulled down on top of him, the length of your body stretched out over his. He's breathing heavily under your weight, more so as you make your way down his chest, not bothering to hold yourself up with anything much but the main event.

You relish at his stuttering groan as you take him into your mouth and like a reflex, his hands tangle in your hair, flexing lightly, undecided whether to push or to pull. He hardens nicely under your constant attention, soon arching his hips for as much of a thrust as you allow.

You've had him come like this countless times before, but tonight he seems hesitant, unwilling to let go, his eyes squeezed shut as you peek up for a look at his face. You can't help but ache with the detachment of his expression, and you let him slip free, ignoring his moan of protest.

It almost looks like he's in some kind of pain, the kind you couldn't hope to reach or soothe. But maybe you can chase it away for a while, and finally get him to talk.

At least he's looking at you when you come back up to straddle him again, his eyes open even when you take him in, a glint of pleasure giving you hope.

“That's it, Gabriel, right there,” and you groan as he pulls up his legs, driving himself in deeper, his lethargy broken.

You stretch out over him again, taking him along with your rhythm, the tight curl of his hand in your hair as he pulls you down for a searing kiss quite enough to push you over with a grunt of triumph.

And yet he seems reluctant to follow, his chest heaving with effort, but after a few shaky thrusts he finally bucks up into you, one arm tight around your shoulders, his free hand sliding over your back, as though searching for purchase, but finding none.

“Gabriel.”

“Just, I. I need a moment, Kat.”

You slide off of him to rest on your back next to him, your shoulders touching, your gut clenched so tight with worry that it's almost impossible to breathe around.

He's never seemed so far away from you.

His moment stretches out into minutes, his breath evening out with the beginnings of sleep. The mattress moves under you as he turns to his side, and you raise yourself on your elbow to look at him, unguarded in his rest, facing away from you.

His back forbidding, cutting you out. You watch it, horrified at the marks the Klingons left on him.

The scars a story on his skin, untold but not forgotten. The lay of his soul.

You reach out for him with a steady hand, seeking to connect.

Like you always will.

No matter what.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
